Inferno
by purplecleric
Summary: Running MCS can be hell... Capt Deakins in the hot seat (with apologies to Dante)
1. Limbo

Waiting...

He hates waiting.

There were things to be done, but they were the routine tasks; the mundane daily rituals of signing off paperwork, shuffling the roster, authorising leave, chasing incomplete reports, memos to be read. And for once there were no controversial cases, no Chief screaming at him for results, no hungry reporters sniffing at his heels for a story.

He glances at the Squad room, at detectives hunched over their desks, the support staff moving between them purposefully. There are murmured conversations, the muted sound of the occasional phone ringing. There is no sense of urgency, no hurried exits, no voices raised in heated discussion. There is just the quiet industriousness of loose ends being tied up, old cases being reviewed, files being put in order.

And that sense of waiting...

Waiting for the answers to a thousand speculative queries; each one having the potential to throw a case open wide, to send it veering off in a new direction, to revive a stagnant investigation. Waiting for the call to come in; shattering the peace, energising the atmosphere, transforming drones into dynamos.

Worse than the waiting, there is the sense of impotence.

The knowledge that he cannot speed up the results of inquiries, make the call come; that he can do nothing... And his thoughts now to turn to matters he has been avoiding. There had been the initial terror of finding a lump in Angie's breast, the whispered frightened conversations about whether to tell the kids yet, the frantic round of doctor's appointments, tests, scans, biopsies. But now all he could do was wait for the results...wait, and hold her hand, and hope for the best and try to avoid fearing the worst...

His thoughts are interrupted by an abrupt intrusion into his office.

"...even if you think they're a waste of time, they still need to be eliminated ..." Her voice trailing off as she realises her words have carried with her through the door, Detective Eames takes a seat in front of his desk, neatly composed and opening the manila folder in her hands. Her partner, by contrast, throws himself dismissively into the seat in the corner, radiating antagonism as he stares out of the window, fingers fiddling with the zip on the binder in his lap.

His Tuesday 2 o'clock torment; case review with Eames and Goren.

When he had taken over as Captain of the Major Case Squad, one of his first tasks was a review of personnel. The outgoing Captain had left him with a competent crew of seasoned, experienced detectives but he had seen the need for some new blood, some fresh ideas and when the opportunity to recruit Eames came up he had seized it. He had not been disappointed.

Goren had been more of a gamble. An impressive track record, anecdotes of bizarre methods and unconventional behaviour from colleagues, the suspicion that the glowing recommendations from former supervisors were attempts to shift this frustrating and challenging detective away from their responsibility onto another. But every department needed a wild card and he could see that with careful management, Goren could be a valuable asset. Careful management and the right partner.

He sits and listens to Eames' clear concise summary of the status of their latest cases and when she has finished, he asks:

"Goren, you got anything to add?"

Startled out of his reverie, the big man shakes his head and mumbles:

"No, uh ... she's pretty much covered it all."

He sees Eames tense, and is aware that there is something left unsaid, a matter under dispute between them but there is no further comment. As he watches them leave, he feels mounting frustration; he knows they will make a good team, that they are a good balance for each other but it is driving him mad knowing that he can't force their partnership in to effect, he has to let them learn to work together.

All he can do is wait...


	2. Lust

Sweet blessed relief!

The news that there was no cancer, just a small benign growth easily removed and with no dire consequences, had washed over him, rinsing the tension from his body and leaving behind pure clear joy singing in his veins. Joy and the intense urge to take Angie in his arms, to take her to bed, to take her...That lust for life-affirming love-making that follows a brush with death or a funeral; that need to prove you were still alive, that you could still _feel_. But she was too fragile initially, still reeling in the wake of emotions and minor surgery.

Then there were his daughters, shaken by their first realisation of their parent's mortality, clinging to her, forming a protective cordon as if their presence could ward off death. And work; long hours by day, the night time call outs. The days passed but the urge didn't.

The weather didn't help.

All that guff about sap rising in the spring had never meant much to him. As a younger man his sap had pretty much been up there all the time, and in later times, well, you seized the opportunities when they rose and were grateful. But now the warm sunshine brought with it a feeling of exuberance and an almost permanent state of randiness and he felt as young as his daughters.

Not an ideal frame of mind to be in at work, particularly when he found himself almost sashaying down the corridor, as if he held an invisible Ginger Rogers on his arm. Particularly when all around him, the women had shed their winter cocoons of sweaters and trousers and were bursting forth in a dazzling display of bared shoulders, smooth calves, pretty toes...

He tears his mind away from considering what lay under light floral fabrics, and tries to concentrate on the report in front of him, but the words dance on the page and all he can see are suggestive double meanings. He groans out his frustration.

"You alright, Sir?"

The typist's words of concern come to him with a wave of heady perfume and a swirl of soft skirts against thigh. He nods, not trusting his voice and accepts the stack of folders, the manila still warm from being held against hot bosomy flesh. He closes his eyes against the vision of pale freckled bounty barely contained by lace and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Christ, is every female hotwired to his groin? At this rate he'd better not venture into the morgue...

Needing distraction, he decides to do the rounds. Updates on robbery and fraud should be dry and dull enough to damp his desire. The first desk is empty and he glances around, trying to locate the usual occupant and spots her in the AV room sat by the side of her taller, darker partner. Goren is gesticulating at the screen, pointing out something and Eames is shaking her head, either in disagreement or lack of understanding.

Although obviously deep in debate, there is no sense of tension between them and he is pleased by that. Things had come to a head (he sighs briefly as he tries not to dwell on the double meanings lurking in that phrase) when she had requested a new partner and he'd been on the verge of intervening when, somehow, the crisis had passed and, without explanation she had withdrawn the request. He's not sure what had caused the U-turn, that was between them, but it sure made the general atmosphere, and Tuesday's in particular, a whole lot easier.

Goren was on his feet now, the gestures becoming more animated and curiosity drives him to find out the cause.

"Care to fill me in?"

"Hey, Captain, my bonehead partner is trying to convince me how the Studio Stalker is selecting his victims from the security tapes."

Her words are harsh but the tone is teasing and Goren seems oblivious to any insult. Instead he is caught up in his theory, fingers tracing a pattern on the monitor as he speaks.

"He'll be watching from here... here he can see them, their movements from room to room ...uh ...see them undress, will be imagining them in the shower, in bed..."

Goren's voice is soft, almost a whisper, drawing him in and his already inflamed nerves are overheating with the images evoked. At that moment, Eames takes off her jacket to expose shapely toned arms and golden smooth skin and he can take it no longer.

"I'm heading out for lunch; only page me if war breaks out." His message is as abrupt as his departure.

Kids at school, door locked, phone off the hook, wife warmly welcoming him into her arms...

Sweet blessed relief!


	3. Gluttony

Just another one...

The rich smell teases his nostrils as he bites through the crumbling crust into gooey moistness, the dark bitter edge of the chocolate and crunch of nuts a perfect contrast to the mouth melting sweetness.

Home cooked delights were rare in the Squad Room; most of the staff had little time for baking, and politicians, corporations and the famous rarely expressed their gratitude that way. But Petronelli's new wife was an accomplished cook and eager to curry favour with his colleagues, so the tin with its cutesy motifs of hearts and flowers was a welcome sight on the table next to the coffee machine.

Especially now.

Called into action by the cancer scare, Angie and the girls had embarked on a campaign to minimise further risks. He was denied his after- dinner cigar and dragged out on long walks and cycle rides on his day off. Fair enough, he knew the dangers of smoking and time spent with the women in his life was never wasted. But worst was the food; a near vegetarian menu of organic health-food with not a cookie or cake in sight.

Except in the Squad Room.

His hand sneaks into the tin and surreptitiously takes another brownie, the forbidden nature increasing the temptation. Wiping his mouth free of any crumbs, he heads back into the main space to catch up with Eames and Goren; the real reason he had left his office before the sight of the tin had distracted him.

Eames gave him the facts, Goren his interpretation and he was pleased to see them working well together; the uncomfortable sensation in his stomach was due to sugar not tension.

"The Councilman will be delighted it's not some maniac terrorising his slum." He leans back on the desk trying to ease the tightness of his waistband and continues.

"You can kick it over to the 1-5..."

"Why? We got time for this." Eames' quick interjection and the glance she throws at Goren tell him a lot about their commitment and the current state of their partnership.

"The Chief of Detectives wants a couple of bodies for the Mayor's drug task force..." The look on their faces confirms his predictions. "OK, I should know better. But it's a good opportunity..." He points at Eames, knowing she is the most ambitious of the pair. "Suit yourself!" She gestures, hands raised as if the very prospect is appalling and he gratefully heads back to his office and the opportunity to loosen his belt.

Cranberry and white chocolate chip cookies.

He is still trying to clear the stickiness from his teeth as he is followed back to his office; Eames eager to share their latest findings, Goren pushing in front impatient to expound on serial killers versus spree killers. The phone call interrupts them and brings news of another body. He shares their distress and envies them being able rush off into action while he is stuck in the office. At least, there are cookies...

Passing by their desks later (after another trip supposedly for coffee- he wonders if anyone has noticed the machine in his office still works) he watches with pleasure as Goren draws the facts presented by Eames together into a web of court cases and insurances claims. This was the potential he had seen and it is gratifying to see it in action. But perhaps not as satisfying as sugar and butter and...

Banana bread.

He tries to convince himself that the fruit and nuts wrapped in crumbly moistness constitute healthy food as he listens to the technician play the recorded telephone message. He is becoming a little perturbed by his weakness and his pants are becoming tighter. His disgust at his self indulgence makes his tone a little more strident as he exhorts:

"Let's not let this one get away!"

Mini red velvet cupcakes.

Pure sweet sensation, each a perfect mouthful. And one is not enough.

He sits on his desk, watching Carver pace and pick holes in the case and feels the craving for sugar. Feels too the need to defend the hard work his detectives have put in, their partnership paying dividends. Even more so as he comprehends Goren's plan and Eames willingness to play along.

His thoughts turn to excesses and over indulgence as he watches the drama play out in the interrogation room. Talbott was all about lack of restraint; the coke, the women, the gambling. But there was another form of over indulgence on display here too. Goren, high on the thrill of pushing Talbott's buttons so effectively, pushing just a little bit more...

The mirror shatters, spraying the room with its shards and he sighs. He's going to have to talk to Goren about reining it in a little; otherwise the entire Department budget will be wasted on replacement one- way glass.

Yep, he'll talk to him.

After another cupcake...


	4. Greed

"_INVESTORS DUPED BY FAKE DUPONT"_

"Is this one of yours?" Angie passes the paper to him across the breakfast table and he grins with pride.

"_NYCEDRIN TAMPERER NABBED"_

"Good job!" The Chief of Detectives slaps him on the back, seeming to have forgotten his earlier reservations. He finds himself walking a little taller.

"_DRUG GANG MONEY MAN LINKED TO MURDER"_

"Glad you managed to keep the Governor out of the papers, you handled that well." The Commissioner takes him to lunch and he's never eaten so well. Full of fine food and self importance, he berates a member of the Support Staff for sloppy work on his return to the office.

"_PLASTIC SURGEON CONVICTED – DESPITE NO BODY"_

The Quarterly Performance Indicators are published and Major Case shows considerable improvements. Flush with success he sends out a slew of memos highlighting examples of poor procedure, determined not to let the statistics drop.

"_ABORTION SNIPER APPREHENDED"_

His annual appraisal goes well. He is less forgiving when appraising his staff, wanting to sustain the good reputation he is gaining amongst the higher-ups.

"_SABATELLI SCANDAL"_

"Major Case has got some balls. You're doing good over there, Jimmy." The DA's words come to him through a cloud of cigar smoke. He puffs on his own cigar and puffs up his ego.

"_TUXEDO HILL TRAVESTY"_

The mood is mixed in the bar. Several of the guys have lost money they invested, but they are all full of praise, pleased that one of theirs was involved in exposing the fraud. He doesn't buy a drink all night. He's a little bit drunk and strutting when he returns home and Angie mocks him for being pompous.

"_SICK CHILD SCAM EXPOSED"_

Angie is upset, she had read the book, had believed...But he is too full of tales of how Goren had revealed the deception, too full of righteousness to consider her feelings. He sits, bolstered by the ego boosting reputation of _his _department and barely notices she has retreated to the kitchen in silence.

"_RADICAL MUSLIM TERROR PLOT FOILED"_

He and Angie join the Mayor for dinner and he soaks up the schmoozing. Angie is polite but withdrawn.

"This is not who you are, Jimmy." Her words are tinged with sadness.

"_MAJOR CASE –MAJOR KUDOS"_

The feature article in the Sunday paper and his thoughts turn to promotion.

"How does Inspector Deakins sound?"

Angie's look of scorn feels like a mockery of his achievements. The bitter argument that follows becomes nasty, and for the first time in years, he sleeps on the couch.

"_CHARITY COUPLES GREED?" "GREEDY GARCIAS FLEECE WELFARE FOR GOLD PLATED TAPS?"_

He's standing in the doorway to his office, speculating on what the papers would say about this latest case.

"_EYE DOCTOR MUTILATES MENTALLY ILL?"_

The ophthalmologist is led from the interrogation room in cuffs and Goren makes for a phone. He can't hear the content of the call but the detective's distress is evident, as is the consternation on Goren's face as he heads out of the Squad Room. As evident as the worry and concern radiating from Eames and Carver.

Mentally ill... Goren's mother...

A shocking realisation hits him and he retreats back into his office, sinking into his chair.

He had let power and prestige go to his head, had lost sight of the really important people.

Important people like hard working detectives who were committed and worked long hours. Who had personal lives and problems but still got the job done. Who were the real story behind the headlines and the real reason for the department's success.

Important people like Angie, who was loving and loyal and the real reason his marriage had lasted longer than most. Who had given birth to three beautiful daughters and raised them practically single handed. Who believed in him and his commitment to the job.

He had lost sight of who he was; a cop not a politician.

He makes a note to check in with Goren and Eames tomorrow, orders some flowers and knows what tomorrow's headline should read:

"_DEAKINS EATS HUMBLE PIE"_


	5. Anger

The lump was back, and this time it was not benign.

Anger surged through him. He felt betrayed; having been lulled into a false sense of security with the previous scare only to have it come back and smack him in the face. He was angry at Angie for having kept her suspicions and the initial consultations secret because she was aware he was already preoccupied. Angry at his father; the Alzheimer's causing such a decline in his dad's mental state that he had been too busy trying to sort out care arrangements to notice what was going on at home.

But Angie and Dad were not to blame; the anger was misplaced and that brought guilt and he turned the anger on himself.

Further appointments revealed an error in the previous lab results; the first lump had not been innocuous and the anger intensified to rage. He lost it in the doctor's office; screaming out his ire, face red as he boiled with fury. The shaken, scared look on his wife's face the slap needed to shock him back to a state resembling reason.

But the anger remained.

It was evident in the ache in his jaw; as he clenched his teeth, biting back the feelings. It was evident in the large bottle of antacids kept in his desk drawer; heartburn becoming a problem as the anger ate away at him. It was evident in the way the people around him were now a source of irritation and he found himself feeling increasingly intolerant but battled hard not to let his feelings show. Hence the aching jaws, the antacids.

He reaches for one of the chalky tablets now, as he tries to focus on Bishop, who was trying to express her own anger.

"...my hand on the holster, not knowing whether I was going to need to pull my gun on the perp or Goren. I don't want to make it official, Captain, but it was excessive, swinging that metal pipe like that..."

He showed her out of his office, with reassurances that he would speak to Goren, trying to stifle his annoyance. Not sure if he's annoyed at Bishop for telling him or at Goren's behaviour, he pulls on his coat, needing a walk and a change of scene to settle himself before he deals with this.

Ah, Goren! He'd known there'd be some tricky times when he'd taken him on, but actually there'd been fewer than he'd expected. He suspected Eames' influence was instrumental in that, he'd just given a gentle nudge occasionally, a quiet word here and there. He feels a flush of warmth, rare these days, as he thinks on the reason for Eames' absence, quickly fading as the problems it caused come back to the fore.

He'd hoped that working with a temporary partner would be easier for Goren, would hold him steady until Eames' return but from what he'd seen and heard it was just highlighting the loss. He'd also forgotten to take into account how they'd all got used to Goren's methods; the powerful way he could use his anger in interrogations being a prime example.

God, he envied that ability to channel rage into something constructive. He could use some of that these days.

"Goren, a word..."

He nods his head towards the office, closes the door behind them. He'd not been sure how to handle this, had rehearsed various scenes in his mind, the unfortunate result being mounting anger. He could do without this right now!

"I heard about the scene in the metal works..."

Goren was perceptive and intuitive and quickly saw where the conversation was heading, his own anger perceptibly beginning to rise.

Aggravated grey eyes meet maddened brown eyes and in that moment both men see the real emotion underlying their anger.

Fear.


	6. Heresy

"...In his arms he'll take and shield thee; thou wilt find a solace there."

The strains of the melody die down and the congregation settles in their seats. The pastor's sermon is full of thoughts on a benevolent God and His gentle guidance, encouraging the gathered faithful to trust in His plan.

He's no longer sure of his belief.

The simple faith that had been fed to him with mother's milk, nurtured through years of Sunday school and family rituals no longer seemed relevant. He'd seen the things that people do in the name of love, worse still in the name of God and had begun to doubt. He'd watched his father revert to a scared child, terrified and confused by the people he had once loved and had wondered what sort of mercy this represented.

He glances across at his wife, thin and pale with dark circles under her eyes, the headscarf tied to conceal the thinning hair and questions the benevolence in stripping a vital energetic woman of her passion, of her beauty. Was this His plan? The nausea, the cracked dry sore skin, the crippling fatigue? Or was she supposed to eschew the treatments and embrace Heaven?

His thoughts disturb him and he rubs the side of his face, trying to ease the tension in his temple, fingers getting caught in the strap of his eye patch. Bell's palsy; another example of God's "benevolence". His mind turns back to the words of the hymn; what a friend we have in Jesus... Hmm, some friend!

His family didn't want him going to work but he needs the continuity, something he can depend on. Everything else feels so shaky, in doubt.

Frank Adair is a welcome sight; someone inspirational, someone to believe in. He finds himself growling in Frank's defence, like a yard mutt protecting his master, when Eames dares to question him. Exasperated with his detective's suspicions, he declares:

"He straight up, clean as a whistle." And in his mind there is no doubt.

But gossamer threads of speculation begin to tangle, trapping Frank in the web, until at last Goren is the one brave enough to give voice to the unpleasant notion.

"I wouldn't count on Anya showing up soon, she's the only person who can link Frank to her husband's death..."

Although he had seen the way things were heading, to hear it spoken made it real and it rocks his foundations.

"Whoa!" He could let Eames and Goren follow this up, but he has to know, has to see it himself.

"I'll talk to him."

He hasn't been office based for so long that he's lost his cop instincts. He still knows bullshit when he hears it, and Frank is laying it on thick. Any remaining hope is dashed by Marie's remark revealing Frank's lie and the subsequent comments about Alberny, loaded with suggestions of exchanged favours.

Back at MCS, his knock on Goren's desk sounds like the death knell, calling the troops forward to execute the sentence. Dedicated cop crusader or dedicated three timing bastard?

He admits doubt.

"I don't know what Frank's capable of anymore."

But he needs more evidence, more proof.

He watches the car being pulled from the water, sees the pale corpse and admits defeat.

All he can do is put his trust in what he has left; his job, his detectives...

"It's Frank. We've got to turn these two on each other."

He turns away, not wanting them to see his dismay. The chill wind, the cold choppy waters reflect his mood; it is bleak. Heart heavy, he heads back to the office to find a message to call Angie. He is distracted by thoughts of emptiness and she is breathless and gabbling and he has to ask her to repeat herself.

"It's worked! No further treatments necessary. Jimmy, do you hear me? It's gone, the cancer's gone..."

Tears prick at the eye that is still working properly, and he finds himself uttering a prayer of thanks. There is hope, and he has faith; with these he has the courage to take down Frank.


	7. Violence

The warm sunshine strokes the tension from his neck, the buzzing of insects and the far off sound of a hedge trimmer adding to the mellow moment. Coffee, a cigar, the crossword; all to be enjoyed in the peace of his backyard. It was a rare treat.

The rising tone of female voices interrupts his reverie, followed by a loud smash.

"Jimmy!"

He hurries in to find Angie, white faced and shaking, trying to pick up the pieces of a broken dish from the kitchen floor. From the back of the house, a door slams.

"Beth again?"

He kneels beside his wife, taking her trembling hand in his.

"You've got to talk to her, Jimmy. Try and get through to her..."

He knows, he's just not sure if he can.

The last couple of years had been tough on them as a family, but they had pulled together, rode the wave. All except Beth, their wild child. The child who had kept them up all night when she was a baby with her fretting, had kept them awake with her sleepwalking and nightmares, who now kept them up late when she failed to return home. She had always been the adventurous one, the daring one, the rebellious one but that streak now had a dangerous edge and often resulted in dramatic outbursts, harsh words and broken crockery.

Violence was an ugly factor of a cop's life; he had just never expected to see it in his home.

These troubles play heavily on his mind at work, particularly with the new addition of Logan. He'd been impressed by the way he'd handled himself on the prison case, had made further inquiries, had pulled a few strings. Goren had settled back down with the return of Eames and he felt that the time was ripe to take another risk.

He was beginning to regret that decision. The very presence of Logan was like a constant reminder of Beth. Barek too, was new and unused to working with a partner, Logan was desperate to prove himself and the tension and uncertainty was palpable. Whereas he had been previously confident in his management skills (Goren and Eames were a testament to that) his inability to resolve things at home was bleeding into work and he found himself becoming stricter and more authoritarian.

"So three days in you got Nancy and Sluggo here and an ID on the weapon..."

"We'll do better." Barek's tone is defensive and all he hears in his head is Beth's voice whining "I won't do it again, I promise, Dad" Remembering how often that had proved to be a lie, his reply to Barek is harsh.

"I'm counting on it."

Another day and a frantic phone call from Angie with news that Beth has been suspended from school for fighting. They are to see the School Principal that evening to discuss the situation. He's not in a favourable frame of mind as Logan and Barek present the case for their suspect, a mood that deteriorates rapidly when there is a report of a further murder and robbery involving a woman with a similar description to the one in custody. His temper flares.

"I don't want to hear it. Just get going!"

Funnily enough, it took someone else challenging his judgement to restore his faith in himself. Carver's words about assigning a cop with an asterisk next to his name coming back to bite him had raised his defences but had strengthened his resolve.

"I knew that going in, Counsellor but thank you for reminding me..."

By the time Logan had come to him with his own doubts, he had regained the courage of his convictions.

"You become a problem for me; I'll be the first to let you know."

This rediscovered self assurance carried him home into another screaming match between wife and daughter. Beth turns on him as Angie beats a hasty but grateful retreat. He gathers his daughter into his arms, her fists beating ineffectively at his chest, her diatribe muffled against his jacket. Her hands still, clutching at his lapels and her words become sobs.

He wishes she was still a little girl, at that age when she believed her Dad was a superhero and could fix all that was broken in the world. But she was on the brink of womanhood now and had stopped believing. He strokes her thick dark hair, so like Angie's and uses the last superpower he has left.

He tells her he loves her.


	8. Fraud

He treads wearily, but cautiously up the icy path, pausing at his front door, wary of what he might walk into. He's not worried about tempers and tantrums; Beth's rebellion was taking a more "conventional" turn these days. She had swapped screaming fits for the screaming lyrics of some band, was exploring some rather interesting clothing choices and was hanging out with a young man whose appearance was designed to shock but was at odds with his polite manners.

No, it was not Beth's behaviour he was unsure of, it was Angie's.

It had started years ago with the first cancer scare; the interest in organic whole food leading her to explore yoga and meditation. He could understand that; exercise and time for quiet contemplation, just like a solitary walk. And he could understand the massages, even with scented oils, but maybe not the hot rocks. And while undergoing chemotherapy, she had explored complementary therapies like acupuncture and, while he was not convinced, he could see no harm and could not deny her hope. He was not entirely sure what Reiki and chakras were but Angie seemed happy and the girls joked about their "New Age" mom.

He put up with the creepy sounds of whale songs and the incense that smelt less appealing to him than his cigar smoke. Crystals started appearing everywhere; he had even been given one for his keychain. He supposed it was like a lucky charm. The furniture got moved around to "encourage the flow of energy" or something. He was less happy about that; his favourite chair no longer had a perfect view of the ball game on the TV.

But recently Angie had been talking about auras and astrology and that bothered him.

He takes a deep breath and enters the house; a house that no longer looks, feels or smells like his home and goes looking for his wife that he's not sure he understands anymore.

The office remains the same, comfortable and familiar. The only surprises came with the cases, like this one that Barek and Logan had caught- two girls wrapped up in plastic like Egyptian mummies. But however bizarre the circumstances, the way you approached them was the same. Well, Goren sometimes threw in a curve ball but that was the exception rather than the norm. He finds himself taking his baseball with him as he does his rounds of the Squad Room; its familiar weight is reassuring.

Barek and Logan's investigation leads them to suspect someone is preying on the fears of the sick and dying to extort them for money. This perturbs him, making him think of Angie. She was no longer sick but had faced the prospect of death. This morning she had talked about visiting a psychic and he had spoken of his concerns, remembering the case Goren and Eames had worked on, the young girl who had visions and her Svengali. They had preyed on the weak and the vulnerable, too. Angie had mistaken his concern for criticism and he hated the hurt look on her face.

That evening he stays late at work, choosing pizza and a case review with Barek and Logan over a vegan meal with his family and a discussion about clairvoyance.

Usually he likes to watch the interrogations, particularly the ones that close the case. But he's got no appetite for this one, the charlatan healer. Instead, he stays in his office, moving the baseball from one hand to another, lost in his own form of meditation.

His wife is seeking something she feels she lacks, something that she is not getting from her work, her friends, her daughters or her husband. His daughters are becoming strangers, transforming into young women he doesn't know.

He's been married to the job, his office feels like his home, the Squad his surrogate children to be nurtured, encouraged, and occasionally disciplined.

He's no longer sure of himself as a husband or as a father.

He feels like a fraud.


	9. Treachery

He can't believe what he is hearing.

What is all this stuff about e mails and phone calls? Where is this all coming from? Logan had been cleared, the case was closed. And what the hell has all this to do with Martinez or Barden's task force? His mind is whirling with confusion but there is a sinking feeling of dread in his gut.

He has trouble concentrating on the update regarding Goren and Eames' latest case. They're looking at him in anticipation, expecting some suggestion, some direction as is his usual way. Instead he feels the need to tell, to share – the weight of suspicions feel too large a burden to bear on his own.

"Tomorrow I'm going to be tied up at IAB..."

'Turn in the barrel' feels an appropriate description for the churning sensation in his belly but Eames' scornful response to the suggestion that he has been dishing out rewards is gratifying. It was good to know someone believed in him.

Returning to MCS late the next day, he is not surprised to find they are the only ones still at work. Goren's urge to solve a mystery and Eames' doggedness often led to late nights. Out of habit, he checks up on the case, but they are more curious about his day. How can he tell them that every action, every decision he has ever made has been scrutinised and suspected, that the minutiae of his life has been picked over and questioned? His confidence has been eroded, worn down by every raised eyebrow and insinuation; he is drained, defeated.

"Not now..."

He should have guessed that they would not leave it alone, that they would start an investigation of their own; proffering up the results like children anxious to please a parent. They were cops and their only aim is to get the bad guy but he has straddled the fence between cop and politician for too long now. He can see the wider implications and he has to know why.

"I know what you've done, Frank."

Catch 22, caught between a rock and a hard place and all those other clichés; does he really think he's worth it?

For a moment he wavers, caught between his self doubts as a man and his professional pride. But his ego has not festered and become bloated like Frank's. He knows he is one of many able and competent NYPD captains; that crimes will be solved and MCS will still continue without him but at home...

Discussions and decisions, and Angie holds him tightly as if rediscovering something once lost, now found.

He wanted them to be the first to know, Eames' fighting instinct no surprise. She was not one to back down, but she had never lost her sense of humour. He remembers their shared amusement over the years, usually at Goren's antics.

"You don't deserve this." Praise, indeed from a man who shared little of a personal nature, just his intellect and his passion for the job. Two great investigators but together they made a formidable partnership. He feels proud of this legacy; his good detectives...

Enough time left for a little fun. One last piece of the action, a boundary to push, Logan to tease, one last chance to use his favourite phrase:

"Step into him."

The final day, the final farewells, the final steps on this tempestuous journey. There have been trials, temptations and torments: he had seen the best and the worst of people, of himself. Sometimes it had felt like hell.

Home and the smell of fried chicken greets him. Better still are the smiles of four beautiful women, even Beth has temporarily shed her spiky defences. There is shared food and greasy fingers, laughter and warmth and washing dishes. There is cool air and cigar smoke, quiet conversation and contentment, arm circling his wife's waist as they look at the stars.

Heaven.


End file.
